


Yours Truly, Side Stories

by Beavi



Series: Chronicles of the South [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Divergence, I get too invested in my OCs, I wrote some backstory for Morga bc why not, Multi, Side Story, Some spoilers for the main story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-07-23 09:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beavi/pseuds/Beavi
Summary: Adding to the greater narrative of my world-building in "Yours Truly," think of it as bonus content





	1. Luxx: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for sympathetic villains. Also, since it's written from Luxx's perspective, you knowwww he doesn't see how much of an annoying gremlin goblin man he can be. He only sees himself as demure and regal, let's be real.

Constantly chasing approval from someone who will never give it is a sure way to run yourself right to your grave.

If he had to pick one, Luxx would say that this was the most important lesson he had learned in his life.

And yet, for some horrifically idiodic reason, he continued to chase that fantasy even to this day.

That is why he was laid out over the hot stones that seared their runic brands into his skin as Morga’s pet worked over him. She showed no particular compassion as he was rolled this way and that as the wolf worked her questionable magics.

He had let Morga rile him up again. Through that damned Mirth's victory, she won yet again.

The thought alone was frustrating beyond belief. Over half a century and he still hadn’t learned to just stand his own against her.

* * *

“Morga, look!” Luxx had yelled out, letting his excitement get the best of him as he waved his hands in the air wildly to capture her attention.

She stood stoically beside her mother, hands behind her back and face neutral as stone, a perfect replica of the tribe matriarch despite her youth.

She was older than him. Not by much, but paired with her vigorous training and undeniable talent, Luxx couldn’t help but look up to her.

There was something about the sharpness of her gaze that struck a chord in his heart. When she shot an annoyed glance his way, the immediate fear was mingled with something else, some softer emotion that he was sure she wouldn’t be pleased about.

The slight snarl on her lip told him to shut his mouth, which he obeyed, but he couldn’t keep from grinning as he pointed to his freshly painted face.

He had finally reached the age where he would begin his journey to adulthood, and his mother had drawn the kohl on his face at the ceremony. She had chosen a raccoon for him, to celebrate his cunning and clever nature, so she mirrored the thick black lines as she covered his eyes and stretched it out to the edges of his jaw.

He would be lying if he hadn’t been hoping for a cooler patron animal, like Morga’s or his brother, Lutz’s, but he trusted his mother. She had always supported and even encouraged his natural curiosity, sharp wit, and his flare for the dramatic, unlike some of the others in the tribe.

He was used to being written off by them. was undeniably lanky in comparison to his fellow tribespeople, slender and soft in a way that made the others write him off without much thought.

It was a fatal mistake for some. What he lacked in bulk, he made up for in speed.

Once, after a particularly fierce victory of his, Morga looked almost impressed.

Since then, he hadn’t been able to keep her out of his mind.

So here he was hopping from foot to foot in excitement, trying to show her his new markings.

The movement caught Eir’s attention. She inclined her head in his direction just slightly, hardly a twitch of movement, but it was enough to freeze him in place, precariously balanced but not daring to even breathe.

He watched with bated breath as she looked down from him to her daughter, who also seemed to have stiffened more than her usual rigid posture when her mother’s ghostly gaze landed on her.

Eir let out a short huff of a disappointed breath, turning away to look back over the camp.

Morga glared daggers at him once her mother was no longer looking. She left her side and stalked over to him.

“You grub! What were you thinking?” She hissed.

Morga, in all her glorious ferocity, grabbed the collar of his coat, dragging him closer to her.

He felt his traitor face heat under the kohl, so he just averted his gaze and mumbled some sort of excuse until she dropped him.

The snarl didn’t leave her face, but she did give him an appraising look, looking over the fresh lines on his face.

“It suits you.” She finally said, her voice no longer holding the same venom it had before.

She almost seemed to approve, and it was the most wonderful feeling. Luxx couldn’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day.

* * *

Morga had sat him down one cold night in the Southlands. They had been campaigning across the ocean coast, following the trail of an elusive family of druid merchants who had been dealing battle-ready concoctions to the Scourge’s enemies.

Friends of Luxx’s had gotten strange burns after what should have been routine border defence, but the rashes quickly spread until it consumed them, causing them to succumb to the affliction mere days after contracting it. Luxx had been the one who figured out not only what it was, but who was supplying it.

Morga had given a nod when he presented her with his findings.

They weren’t kids on the cusp of adolescence anymore, Morga had already been coronated as matriarch and his brother now led the war council, but his heart still skipped a beat when she said it was good work that he had done.

The two of them had stayed close as they grew up. Morga would refuse his advances time after time, until eventually he stopped trying. But they both knew that his feelings for her hadn’t changed.

Compared to the rest of the tribe, the two of them actually got along well. He was smart enough to know when not to get in her way, and he was fiercely loyal to her. She trusted him, and despite not condoning the affection he held for her, she still offered him the position of her advisor.

He had taken it gladly, happy to be of use to both her and the tribe. It was a responsibility that he cherished and poured himself into. He dedicated a good portion of his youth to building up a network of informants, studying any texts he was able to get his hands on, and doing what he could to improve the effectiveness of their campaigns.

He and Morga would disagree often on strategy, but there was an undeniable respect the two held for one another.

Now, they were preparing to return to the Scourge base. Their work was done, so while they waited for the others to finish prepping for the journey back, Morga had called for him, and he came without hesitation.

She sat on a rocky outcropping, facing against the salty breeze of the ocean. Her naturally fierce composure making it seem like she was challenging the tides themselves as they broke shore down below. The wind blew her blonde hair back, fluttering in the wind with a delicacy that was so unlike her.

“Luxx.” She acknowledged as he joined her, sitting where she gestured him to.

“My revered leader.” His voice sounded far too wistful to be professional. It was something she would certainly scold him over if they hadn’t been alone.

She didn’t look at him. Instead, she kept the weight of her gaze out over the dark swell of the ocean waves. For that, he was grateful. He wasn’t sure he would be able to function if she directed it at him.

The effect she had on him was embarrassing, especially considering her relations with his brother weren’t exactly private. He had been trying to move on, but the intensity of everything that was Morga would bring him right back to that young boy who fell so desperately for her.

He wanted to respect his older brother, but a part of him still held out hope that she would one day decide that she had had her fun with Lutz.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasied about the day it would be _him_ that she allowed back to her chambers in the late-night hours.

“As my advisor, you should be informed of upcoming events.” She said evenly, but he knew her well to tell something was off. Her brows were angled more downwards, her scowl a little deeper.

He gave a slight bow of his head, trying to mask his own unease.

“When we return to camp, I will be taking Lutz as my husband.”

Luxx was silent. He knew this was a possibility, considering the time she and Lutz had spent together, but hearing it come into fruition was something else.

He was familiar with the ache of rejection, the heartbreak of unrequited longing, but this?

This was real.

This was the end of it.

All he could was nod, lest he choke on his own response.

“You are my trusted advisor.” Her voice was softer than he was used to. “Do you object?”

Luxx closed his own eyes. He was at a loss. He loved this incredible woman, but she loved Lutz. In the end, she had never accepted his advances, but she had never once led him on. She had always been gracious about the ordeal, always gave him the space to leave if it ever became too much for him, but he stayed right by her side. She trusted him, and he wouldn’t betray that for anything.

She may not ever love him back, and the thought of that stung, but he knew that Lutz would be good for both her and the tribe.

“Your union will be glorious.” Luxx finally mustered the strength to say, not letting his voice waver. “With Lutz at your side, you will bring the Scourge of the South to a new era of victory. And, deliver us a worthy heir.”

With that, Morga did turn to look at him. She took a deep breath, studying his face for any hint of insincerity. There wasn’t any though, he had spoken the truth as he could see it.

Eventually she gave a sigh, and a nod.

He could tell she was relieved.

* * *

Morga’s pregnancy was a difficult one, one of the hardest the tribe had ever seen. She was out of commission for nearly the full nine months she carried her heir, so Lutz was sent off to lead in her stead.

Luxx stayed by her side, helping her through it.

He could tell how infuriated it made her being bedridden and so easily sick. Weakness was uncharted territory for the matriarch, and he was sure that if it wasn’t her child’s life at stake, she’d cut it out herself.

The time was grueling, and he was sure it was near torture for her to suffer through, but on the fateful day the heir to the Scourge was born, Luxx was certain it was all worth it.

She had screamed, a sound so horrid and primal tearing out of her that Luxx felt himself on the brink of tears. He let her nearly crush his hand in her grip as her son was delivered.

When Montag was born, he was a sight to behold. His face was scrunched up, like most newborns’ are, but Morga scowled, making some comment between laboured breaths about how she must have given birth to a goat, not a boy.

Luxx just rolled his eyes before she let him hold the wrapped bundle.

The infant’s wails were like music to his ears as he held him close. As piercing as the sound was, it meant his nephew was alive. It had been an unspoken worry throughout the multitude of complications Morga had, but now here he was, tiny fingers grasping out to a world that welcomed him into it.

A breathy laugh escaped him when Montag’s little hand gripped around his finger.

When he looked back over to Morga, he was surprised. It must have been the exhaustion of her labour, because her dark lips were pulled into something that almost resembled a tight smile.

He quickly turned away from it, knowing now wasn’t the time ogle. Instead, he gushed over his new nephew. To him, the baby was perfect in every way. His little tuft of golden hair matched that of his family rather than Morga’s, but when the little one finally opened his eyes to see the world, his eyes were undeniably his mother’s.

“He’s a miracle, and he’s going to be incredible.” The words flowed through him like a prophecy. Somehow, he knew it would be true.

“We’ll see.” Was all Morga said, but her tone was undeniably soft as she took the newborn back in her arms.

* * *

As Montag grew, Luxx found it easier to move on from Morga. He still loved her, that much he knew would always be true, but he was no longer _in_ _love_ with her. There was a noticeable difference.

Now, he saw her mostly as the mother of the most important child in his life.

Montag seemed to have a remarkably keen eye for all of Luxx’s fineries. The glittering charms and broaches he wore would catch the toddler’s eye, and he would reach out for Uncle Luxx. “Uncle Luxx” was a title he held proudly, maybe even more so than “advisor.”

It became obvious, too, that Montag didn’t quite hold the same ferocity as his foremothers. He was curious, maybe a little spoiled, but also held a keen sense that was very familiar to Luxx.

Luxx’s own mother confronted him once, questioning why Luxx was so close to Montag and why the cunning boy had such uncanny similarities to him, rather than his warrior brother Lutz.

He quickly assured her, though, that he would never betray his own brother like that. He had never even been remotely close to intimate with Morga.

In all honesty, he had never been intimate with anyone.

He had been so preoccupied with her that he had never really considered the possibility of relations with anyone else.

Now that the was becoming more open to the idea, something was brewing.

A warrior who served under Lutz had caught his eye several times in the past. He was a man of handsome stature, as fierce as he was loyal to the tribe. Flecks of kohl were painted above his brow with thin, sharp lines over his eyes, accenting surprisingly long eyelashes.

Luxx guessed before that the warrior’s intensity had just reminded him of Morga, that's why intrigued him.

Now, though, he supposed it just meant that he had a type.

It wasn’t long after Luxx came to this conclusion that he approached the fiery man directly.

And it wasn’t much longer after that, that Luxx was shuddering under the man’s strong hands as he breathed his first sighs at night.

It started off as something purely physical. They would seek out one another whenever relief was due, but as time went on, their encounters grew more passionate, until there were days where they would skip the sex entirely to just keep each other’s company.

When they were apart, Luxx began to miss the feeling of him under his lips, he missed the brush of calloused hands, and the heavy heat of a breath panted against his ear.

After some time, this man provided something that Morga never had: he loved Luxx back.

Luxx never had to try desperately for a mere morsel of approval, he was given it easily and freely. He no longer had to search a face for the smallest hint of affection, this man would hold him close without hesitation and whisper his true feelings, his love, into Luxx's ear. 

Despite the seriousness in which he took his job, Luxx’s new flame wasn’t stoic. They smiled together, laughed together, and eventually, loved together openly.

Luxx had never felt this way before. It was so much more than his one-sided, boyish crush with Morga. It was a mutual relationship, and it was everything he could ever hope it would be.

At this moment, his life was perfect. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet when I made the comment about posting a sidefic you weren't expecting to come here and read about Luxx getting a handjob, huh.  
> Part 2 will be up soon, and if you haven't guessed yet, I'm about to ruin this man's whole career 😌


	2. Luxx: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we're starting to the get to the Luxx we all know and despise.   
> One more Luxx part to go before I start posting more on other characters & add some extra stuff for the main duo/trio.

The night Montag had finally received his kohl – sharp, dynamic lines that bordered his pale eyes – Morga had called for Luxx’s audience again.

She had seemed to go through the ceremony begrudgingly, despite the cheer of her son.

Luxx found her outside the perimeter where she stood statuesque by the gates, surveying their territory.

“I failed him.” She said simply when she heard Luxx approach. She didn’t turn to acknowledge him, but he caught the way her grip tightened on her spear.

“Montag?” He guessed, “The ceremony went without flaw, how’d you fail?”

“Montag holds the worst qualities of our families.” She admitted after a moment, “He is ruthless without honour, proud without purpose, and cunning without care. He will bring this tribe to ruin if he leads.”

“He’s a child, Morga.” Luxx surprised himself. He hadn’t referred to her by name in years, but jumping immediately to the boy’s defense made him overlook that. “In time, he will learn.”

If she cared that he had dropped the honorifics, she didn’t make it known. Instead, she sighed.

“He’s worse every day.” She ground the butt end of her spear into the ground. Her jaw clenched as she continued, her frustration with herself clear. “I could have raised him to be better than me, to be better than any leader the Scourge had ever seen, but I failed. Instead of a fearless leader, I’ve made a cowardly brat.”

“That’s not true.”

“You coddle him as much as I do.” She snarled, “The time he spends with you makes him tricky and vain.”

“Hey.” He frowned, taking offense.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed those gaudy jewels Montag tries to hide from me. I recognize them.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that, he was always gifting Montag little trinkets, he was sure Morga would have found out eventually.

“Montag will do great things.” He assured, “He has immense potential, and he is destined for greatness. I just know it.”

“I pray you’re right.” She breathed, her voice grim with no real ounce of hope.

* * *

Montag was well into his teens when tensions rose again with the remaining druidic tribes. The war council decided that immediate action had to be taken. Montag begged desperately to be given a charge of his own to command, but Lutz tried to convince him it was too risky.

Morga outright refused, bluntly saying that Montag wasn’t fit for leadership in front of the entire council. He had stormed off after that, coming to Luxx’s cabin to exclaim his frustrations like he always did when he needed to blow off steam.

He stalked from one end of the room to the other, gesturing wildly as his voice rose indignantly with each aired grievance.

“I can’t believe Ma would do that to me!” Montag glared down at the ground with his hands on his hips.

Luxx tried his best not to laugh. He agreed that Morga had crossed a line, but it was just so cute to see Morga’s signature scowl reflected so childishly on her son’s face.

“She’s hard-ass, but it’s because she doesn’t want you to get hurt.” He assured.

“Hurt? She humiliated me back there!” Saying it out loud seemed to rile him back up. He crossed his arms with a huff, shoulders tensed to the point they were nearly touching his ears.

“Your mother doesn’t exactly consider emotional pain to be on the same caliber.”

“Stop defending her! She’s just being cruel because- because…” Montag stumbled, trying to come up with a reason. “Whatever! You’re only saying that because you _like_ her.”

“Montag.” He sighed. He regretted ever telling that to the boy, he never heard the end of it. “It’s not like that anymore and you know it. I’m just saying that I see why she did it, doesn’t mean it’s justified though.”

“I’ve been so good for, like, a week! How is that not enough to prove I can have my own unit? Ugh!” he threw his arms up into the air in defeat before he resumed pacing. “There’s no winning with her.”

Luxx sent woeful glances to the fragile décor he failed to hide before Montag stormed in. He sent out a quick prayer for his especially delicate glass collection. The boy had an awful habit of throwing things.

“You’ve got that right.” Luxx sighed. “Here, I’ve got something that might get your mind off things.”

“Oh?” Montag smiled, immediately distracted and eyes nearly sparkling with anticipation as Luxx walked over to one of his many jewelry boxes.

It had been a gift that Luxx was saving for Montag’s 16th birthday, but surely there was no harm in giving it earlier, especially if it meant saving his trinkets.

He pulled out a smaller, wrapped box and handed it to his nephew, who had already seemed to forget his whole deal.

Without any real grace, Montag tore the paper off and flung the lid off. He blinked for a moment at the pendant he had been gifted. It was ruby beetle, made from a massive gem and inlaid in gold. It had been a favourite of Luxx’s, and it had been given to him by his father on his 16th, so he felt it only appropriate to carry on the tradition.

Montag looked a little conflicted. There was awe at the sheer size of the gem, but there was also hesitation.

“Thanks.” He said with a tight smile, scrutinizing every detail of the pendant. “But why does everything have to be a beetle?” He scowled again, but it was replaced by another smile when he held the stone up to the light and saw how it danced red spots all around the room.

“That’s the identity of our tribe.” He said simply.

“Well when I’m leader I’m changing it. It’s gonna be something cool. I don’t know what yet but I’m gonna do it.”

Luxx cringed a little inside at the cavalier way Montag spoke about changing something so integral to their people, but just sighed.

“If you believe that is right for the tribe when you are leader, we will support you.”

“You better.” Montag laughed, pinning his new gift to his overcoat and admiring it in Luxx’s mirror.

Now that his tirade of complaints had come to an end, he joined Luxx on the lounge and sprawled out over it, managing to make the large seat feel crowded as he took up all the available space.

After a pause, that teasing glint came back to the boy’s eyes.

“What kind of pervert likes his brother’s wife?”

Before Montag even finished the full sentence, Luxx launched one of his decorative pillows at the boy’s head.

“Hey, hey! Woah there, Luxx-y, no need to get defensive.” He laughed as he caught the cushiony missile with ease.

“Are you gonna ask that every time you come over? I’ll start locking the doors.” Luxx threatened, arming himself with a second pillow.

“Fineeeee” Montag gave an exasperated sighed. “But still. You and Ma? Ew.”

Luxx raised a brow as he could see the boy trying to hold back a fit of laughter.

“You’re one to speak about perversion.” Luxx hummed instead, knowing how to get back at the boy. “I’ve seen the way you wag your tongue after those warriors during training.”

“Hey! That’s none of your businesses.” Montag’s voice rose indignantly again as he kicked out a leg to hit him.

The two continued with meaningless banter back and forth for a little while longer before they let a silence settle between them.

Once the playful bickering and gratification of a new gift wore off, Montag wasn’t as upset as he had been earlier, but he began sulking and pouting in a way that was certainly unfit for a leader.

“You’d let me lead, wouldn’t you?” Montag asked, looking up from where he had let his head dangle off the edge of the lounge.

“Of course.” Luxx hummed, “You’re destined for greatness.”

Montag smirked up at him, probing his ribs with an elbow. Behind his eyes though, Luxx could see hints of genuine relief.

“Damn right I am.”

* * *

Rather than Montag, it ended up being Luxx’s love that was called away to lead the charge against the rebellion group that was gathering at the eastern border.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He had said as he pressed a kiss to Luxx’s brow.

But that was the last Luxx ever saw of him.

The mission had been a suicide for the entire unit. They were massacred as they were sent against a grossly underestimated resistance.

When Luxx found out that the council had received – and denied – a request to retreat, he lost it. 

Morga and Lutz had given him an audience and listened stoically as he shouted himself blue. He cursed, he screamed, but most of all, he blamed them.

“How could you?” He cried out, making no effort to hide the stream of tears that rolled down his face as he mourned the loss of his friends, of his love. “It was senseless! You willingly sent your own people to their death for the sake of your fucking pride.”

It had originally just been the three of them in the hall, but more members of the tribe slowly filtered in as they heard Luxx’s defiance. They kept unusually quiet, watching with wide eyes as Luxx let loose his rage on the two before him.

It was unprecedented, to show such open disdain for the leaders, but Luxx didn’t care.

“Have you gone so mad with power that you’ve lost perspective? We’re you’re people! We are not pawns in your blood-soaked fantasy of glory, we are your friends! Your family! And yet you senselessly send us to our deaths. To what end?” He fought through the break in his voice, clenching fists at his side. “We will not soon forget that you conveniently spared your own son from the massacre. If this is any indication of what the future has to hold, then you are unfit to carry Eir’s legacy.”

The gasp of the crowd at his boldness was cut short as something ignited in Morga’s eyes. The ferocity that he had once found so intoxicating now only fueled his disdain.

What he had once seen as noble conquest was now only ruthless and uncaring.

The woman he called his leader had denied him happiness for decades, and now that he had finally found his own, she had sentenced it to death. 

Bitterness rose and bubbled in his throat as he met the challenge of her gaze. His rage and despair fueled a bravery within him unlike any he had had before.

He was furious, and he could be just as ruthless as she was.

“You failed this tribe like you failed your son, Morga Eirsdottir.” He stressed her last name, letting it drip with venom. He rose his chin defiantly, letting his fury chill his blood to cold, uncaring ice. “You were so busy dwelling in your incompetence at motherhood that you decided to bring us all down with you.”

“Enough.” Her authoritative tone rang out over the crowd. “The Scourge Does. Not. _Surrender_.”

Each word was said with such power that it struck a horrible chord within him, the internal conflict between the love of his tribe and the love he had lost.

Luxx couldn’t bring himself to speak. He could hardly see past the flow of tears, but he refused to hide a single second of his misery at his loss. He needed the two people who he had once trusted most to see this, to see what they had done to him.

Lutz looked at least a little remorseful, the barest hint of sympathy in the downward turn of his lips as he watched his brother break down.

Montag looked especially distraught from where he peeked out from behind his room’s tapestry.

But Morga’s eyes held nothing.

* * *

While in the moment Morga had kept her expression neutral, Luxx’s perception of the memory had soured as the years went on.

The longer he stewed in his anger, the more twisted he remembered it. When he recalled the stand-off, he would remember her looking at him with a heartless expression. Years later, he would say that she looked at him cruelly, spitting on the ground as she sneered at his tragedy.

Because after the incident, Luxx had been demoted. He was uprooted out of the private advisor’s accommodations and sent out to work as a foot soldier in camps far from the Scourge base. It was as grueling as it was humiliating. He was stripped of everything: his title, his rank, his friends, even Montag. The boy was now more afraid of his mother than ever before, lest he be sent to some labour camp in a tar pit somewhere too.

On the odd days where Luxx had moments of clarity, a voice in the back of his head told him that it was obvious that it was a necessary action of Morga’s part. After his treasonous defiance, it was a miracle he was even still alive. If something like that had happened when Luxx was still advisor, he would have suggested a public execution.

The voice would gently try to remind him that Morga wasn’t this hateful woman he was starting to paint her as. As much as she had denied him in the past, she had never been cruel. In fact, it had even been Lutz’s order to send him away, not hers.

As the years went on, though, that voice got quieter and quieter, until eventually he never heard it again.

In its absence, resentment grew.


	3. Luxx: Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was getting carried away writing about the Scourge history.  
> There is a mild spoiler (or a hint??) as to what's upcoming in Yours Truly, so if you want it, it's all yours. If you want to avoid it, then skip the very last section of text.

The latest assignment Luxx’s unit had been given was the hardest of them all. It was just over a year since the incident that left him disgraced, but his strategic mind and skill with his blades had proven too important to be kept down at the lowest ranking.

He rose quickly back up the ranks until he was leading this squadron of Scourge. Admittedly though, his squad was… subpar. They were hard working people, but they were admittedly more ragtag than elite. Some were scrawny, others were also disgraced, and the rest still drew on their kohl with unpracticed hands. The youngest member had joined up while her newly drawn markings were fresh on her face.

He butted heads with her often because of her unwavering loyalty to Morga, but she had that admirable quality to her: fierce devotion to her tribe. Amidst the nearly endless bickering and the fact that she didn’t hesitate to tear open his old wounds, Luxx would have to take deep breaths and remind himself that she still basically a child.

In fact, to Luxx, half of these people were still just children. They had no business being on the battlefront, let alone joining him as his legs sunk into knee-high snow trudging along over the rocky face of the mountain.

Turns out the rebellion group had been attempting to raise the attention of the Mirth, a notoriously protective tribe that rested deep in the heart of the mountains. “Treacherous” didn’t even begin to describe the terrain he was leading his unit over. They were to take this shortcut over the mountain pass to rejoin with several other units to launch an assault against the Mirth.

It took more than a week to reach the other troops. Some of his unit’s lips and fingertips were going blue, so they had to make frequent stops to warm them back up. Though it slowed them down considerably, he preferred that alternative to arriving on time with only half his squad.

The youngest one had been taught to never let her guard down, so she always kept a hand on her chakram, circular blades that were exceptionally susceptible to the cold. It felt like forever before he finally nagged her into not to keeping her bare hand over the metal at these freezing temperatures.

They also had a bout where they were running low on supplies. They had to ration, and one of his unit found a bush of berries. He collected a whole bag of them and brought them back to camp, but they ended up having to throw them all away when the medic informed them that they were extremely toxic. Potentially lethal.

Eventually, Luxx was able to get them all to the Shining Steppe in one piece.

Some of the other troops weren’t so lucky. They were visibly exhausted. Walking around camp revealed people sick as dogs, and some with bandages wrapped around their hands and feet. In the misery of the camp, there was no morale. There hardly seemed to be any pride left for the tribe.

It was disheartening to see. He had hoped that there would be a surge of energy when they got here, to help rally his own troop, but there was none of that here.

If they were to go fight the Mirth like this, they’d be slaughtered. They wouldn’t even make a dent in the population.

The order had been to launch the attack once Morga took care of the “Mama Bear,” the Mirth matriarch.

He didn’t know how much time was left before Morga tracked her down, but he wasn’t about to sit idly by until they were told to finally walk right into their deaths.

As he tried to think of next steps, he caught one of the other troops hungrily eyeing a bush of familiar looking berries.

He quickly interjected, explaining their toxicity, when an idea hit him.

One thing that the Mirth were known for was taking in wandering souls. If he could get into the camp, he could use the berries.

After a day of planning and sending out some scouts to bring back as many of those toxic berries as they could find, Luxx set off into their territory.

Luxx looked undoubtably Scourge, so he had wrapped himself up in a druidic wolf pelt one of the Scourge brought along. He made sure the shadow of the hood covered his sharp, pale features completely before setting off.

To his luck, the Mirth were gathered in celebration. Countless barrels of mead were flowing, and none of them seemed even remotely concerned about the presence of their newest refugee.

Vlagnagog must have truly smiled upon his bravery, because as he weaved among the revelry, he spotted it: the mead reserve. A near manic excitement took hold of him as he began adding the berry concentrate into every barrel he could reach.

He hadn’t been expecting so many, so the poison was more diluted than intended, but at the rate the Mirth were drinking, he didn’t think it would make much of a difference.

He worked fast, but it was no issue for him. He deftly transferred the poison into the barrels through small punctures which he resealed, careful not to crack them or cause suspicion. All the while, he smiled.

It was a great fortune, this night. It seemed as though every Mirth in existence was gathered together for a night of revelry. This could be his chance for glory, to follow in Eir’s legacy. Rather than wage a lengthy war with the Greed though, he was about to take out the Mirth in one fell, casualty-free swoop. Also without indebting their people to a blood-thirsty serpent.

It was almost an hour before the first Mirth fell. Luxx, who had taken to hiding in the shadows to watch the scene unfold, had to throw a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out with a bitter laugh. These were people whose children even dwarfed him, and here he was, watching them collapse under his unseen hand as the poison set in.

The panic that ensued, though, was nearly a stampede. Some fled, some stayed to try and help, others had taken to being sick over in the corners. Luxx realized that getting trampled under the panicked Mirths was a very real possibility, so he fled himself. He realized before he got out, though, that those who were poisoned weren’t dying. They were sick, certainly, but the first to fall already seemed to be coming back from their spell.

The grin began to fall from his face. He couldn’t fail here. He had been handed the greatest victory in Scourge history on a silver platter, he couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste.

He ran as fast as he could to the camp, making it in probably half the time any other Scourge would have. As he nearly flew across the mountain face, disturbance of his footfalls would send rocks sliding down the mountain face, giving him a rather clever idea.

* * *

Luxx’s vision had been executed to near perfection. The outcome was better than he could have ever imagined.

They searched for any stragglers who had managed to survive the avalanche, ensuring a flawless victory.

From the Scourge camp, Luxx had spotted an oddly placed bramble along a path. He walked over, just nearly out of reach of the firelight, but he could see it didn’t quite fit the scenery. Pushing it aside revealed to him what was most certainly a secret path.

Following it, he eventually found himself in a clearing plush with forget-me-nots. Among them was a figure, turned away from him but definitely Mirth. Luxx smiled at his prize as he unsheathed a dagger.

When the Mirth turned to look at him though, a child’s eyes looked at him in horror. 

The boy wore a loosely braided crown of flowers on his head, askew on his black mop of hair. He looked stunned to silence when he spotted Luxx. When the moonlight caught the edge of his dagger, glinting along the blade, the boy screamed.

“I normally don’t hurt kids, but circumstances make you fair game, cub.” He felt a surprisingly dark laughter bubble up out of him as he gave a shrug.

“Cathair!” The boy called, his voice rasping as he screamed out, failing him all together as he tried to scream it again. 

He tried to run, but his little legs could only carry him so fast. Luxx felt the bloodlust of the night get the better of him, and he pursued. He stalked, not even bothering to run, to frighten the little Mirth more, showing that this wasn’t even a challenge for him.

He wouldn’t normally consider himself sadistic like this, but this was his victory to be had. He would be known as the one who slaughtered the bears.

He wasn’t going to let something as foolish as mercy for a Mirth, child or not, ruin that for him. 

Besides, Morga herself had proved that cruelty was now an identity of the Scourge, one he was prepared to embody as he twirled his dagger in his grasp.

The boy scurried out through the bramble, only to run directly into the rest of Luxx’s unit.

They didn’t seem to hold the same enthusiasm Luxx had as they restrained the boy. Rather, they looked up at Luxx with varying degrees of worry.

“I’m doing us all a favour,” He said tilting his chin up to better look down on the defiant look the youngest was giving him. “If we let him live, he’ll return a vengeful and deadly warrior with nothing to lose.”

As two of his more obedient subordinates held the boy up by his arms, making him run uselessly in the air, Luxx gave his dagger one more demonstrative twirl before lifting it level to the boy.

He was certainly still riding he high of his victory as he didn’t even hear the footsteps behind him.

“ _Luxx._ ” His name was snarled with such ferocity and rage that told him, with certainty, that he was a dead man.

He froze, refusing to turn around yet to face his leader.

He took a shaking breath and addressed his group first.

“Take care of this one quickly, there’s another one out there. He was calling out for a ‘Cathair.’”

They gave him brisk nods, and some gave sympathetic looks as they eyed the menacing, bristling presence he could feel behind him.

His shoulders tensed. It was too soon, she wasn’t supposed to be back yet.

“Don’t listen to him, he has just been relieved of his command.” Morga spoke through gritted teeth. There was a fire in her exhausted eyes. She was more dishevelled than she normally let herself get, and the pure, unadulterated rage that coloured her features weren’t doing anything to help that. “Give me the boy.”

Without hesitation, the youngest of his now ex-squad took the young Mirth from the other two and brought him over to Morga.

Finally taking her flaming eyes off of Luxx, she kneeled to examine the boy quickly. She tossed aside the crown to push back his long hair. The boy let out a pitiful whimper as he stood frozen under her gaze.

She took a second to look into the boy’s fearful eyes. Luxx could see them from here, glistening with overflowing tears and a shocking shade of green.

“Same eyes.” She grumbled to herself before replacing the weight of her glare on Luxx. “I didn’t hunt that ‘Mama Bear’ over six and two-third mountains for you to slaughter a descendant of hers, a child no less, with nothing but your disgusting cowardice. She put up an honourable, worthy fight. You do not deserve this kill.”

The venom in her voice caused the young warrior to retreat back to the rest of the squad.

“But-” He started but she rose back to her feet and made it very clear with her expression that one more word and he was dead.

He clamped his jaw shut.

“Escort Luxx back to base as a prisoner, I’ll deal with him when I get back.” She hissed her command at the youngest before scooping up the Mirth.

Luxx looked at her dumbfounded as he watched her turn without another word, tucking the boy close before taking off at a full sprint north.

* * *

Word travels fast among the Scourge, and his reputation preceded him as Luxx returned back to the base he hadn’t called home in a year.

The structure of it was just as he remembered. The buildings, pathways, even that one old lamp that never shone quite as brightly as the rest of them. All of it. The only thing that felt off were the people.

They lined the streets to come watch their twice-disgraced ex-advisor return.

Some sneered, some spit on the ground. Others looked more sympathetic, but nobody dared voice their support of him until Morga returned.

Even Montag was notably absent until Morga finally made it back.

She never mentioned what happened to the boy, whether he still lived or not, and nobody asked. Most didn’t particularly care, anyways. The much more interesting news was the fate of Luxx.

When she returned, she didn’t even stop to rest. He hadn’t expected her to, and he was already in the banquet hall, ready for her verdict.

What respect she had once held for him had disappeared, though he didn’t understand why. He had thought this would be the one thing that she approved of, the one thing that would impress her in the end, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

All those years of comradery, of trust and solidarity, were suddenly meaningless as she stared down at him like he was the scum of the earth.

And yet, she gave him one last grace of mercy. He wasn’t to be executed (though the advisor in him disapproved, objectively his actions could be seen as an executionable offense). Instead, he was made to be the Scourge equivalent of neutered: he was never to step foot on the battlefield again. He was to be arrested on base for the rest of his remaining days without a charge, without any chance for glory, nothing. The only reprieve from total obscurity and misery was that he was now to help ‘train’ the warriors.

Which essentially made him a punching bag against those brutes. 

There was nothing to do but begrudgingly accept the punishment and try to make the most of his now sedentary life.

There is something to be said about inaction and boredom being a slippery slope to the worst emotions the mind has to offer.

He had no real friends anymore. They were either dead or refused to be associated with him. He gained a couple of lackeys though.

His action had seemed to divide the Scourge: some shunned him, others gained more respect for him. A silent half of the tribe thought he had done the right thing.

He had small gifts left on his bed occasionally in the communal barracks. Pretty trinkets or sweets, anything the gift-givers figured he would like.

While some may have been for burying the Mirth, he assumed most were for what he had originally stood up for: bringing people and their loved ones home safe in the face of needless sacrifice. They were probably the only niceties he had in his life anymore.

Originally, he had planned to fight the verdict, to prove that he was still a valuable asset to the tribe, that he could bring them further glory in their conquest.

Looking up at Morga, the weight of her gaze heavy as ever, and his brother, who glared down at him with disdain, something in his chest sank.

That defiant part he expected to surge up just… didn’t.

He had given up. 

He had given up on a lot more since. His eloquence and his grace seemed frivolous, they were trademarks of a past version of himself, one that was dead and gone.

He gave in. He let himself rot in his resentment instead.

* * *

Years into his house-arrest, he had watched Montag grow more and more resentful of Morga himself. He was frustrated with her lack of faith in him. When she refused to abide by traditional 18th birthday coronations, something strange happened.

A terrible sickness came over Lutz, and even Morga’s eyes held the faintest red glow.

Luxx was normally barred from interacting with his nephew, but circumstances made him decide it was worth it to go comfort Montag. He figured he would be at least a bit distraught over the news of his two ill parents, but the boy – young man now – seemed antsy instead. Luxx went to put a hand on his shoulder and Montag nearly startled out of his skin. 

Luxx knew something was up, but other than a raised brow, he didn’t press for details.

More came to light when, on Lutz’s deathbed, his son challenged him to a duel. It was over as quickly as one would expect a duel between a corpse and a healthy, young man to go. In a gruesome display, Lutz’s heart was ripped from his chest as he laid, defeated, in his own bed.

He was sad to see his brother go, and he mourned in his own time, but then he was intrigued by Montag’s action.

He was sure Morga considered it cowardly, just as she had with him, but Luxx was proud of the boy. He seized the opportunity just as he himself would have.

Morga was more on edge than Luxx had ever seen her. Every day, she shadowed her patricidal son, never letting him out of her sight for a moment.

“M-ma, some privacy!” Montag had stuttered out, trying to sound assertive but the quiver in his voice as he met the oppressive stare of his mother only made him sound like a child again.

Morga didn’t say a word. She just kept watching.

It was almost like she was hunting him, but never actually went in for the kill. The intimidation must have gotten too much for Montag, because something happened away from the rest of the tribe.

One day, Montag was gone.

Even when pressed, Morga stayed silent on the issue.

Luxx spiraled, reaching out to everyone in his old network to see if anyone had seen the boy.

It was the most motivated he had been in years and he worked with a fervour for weeks, tirelessly pouring over any clues he could find, until one day an unfamiliar parchment came for him.

In rough, blocky script, it read:

**UNCLE LUXX!!**

**A COUPLE OF STRANGERS ASKED ME ABOUT YOU, I GUESS THAT MEANS MA HASN’T TOLD ANYONE WHAT HAPPENED.**

**SHE BANISHED ME, AND GOOD RIDDANCE (OF THE TRIBE, NOT OF ME OBVIOUSLY). I NEVER LIKED THOSE STUPID BEETLES ANYWAYS.**

**YOU ALWAYS SAID I WAS DESTINED FOR GREATNESS. I WASN’T GOING TO FIND IT IN SOME OLD, DINGY TRIBE, SO I’M SETTING OUT INTO THE WORLD INSTEAD.**

**I WON’T SAY WHERE I AM, BUT I’M SAFE, YOU WORRYWART. STOP MAKING YOUR LACKEYS BOTHER ME.**

**OR, IF YOU’RE GONNA KEEP IT UP, AT LEAST SEND GOOD-LOOKING ONES.**

**I’M DENOUNCING THE NAMESAKE I HELD. IF MA WANTS TO BANISH ME, THEN THAT NARCISSIST DOESN’T DESERVE ME CARRYING A NAME LIKE HERS. I’VE TAKEN A COOLER ONE TO BETTER REPRESENT THOSE IN MY LIFE WHO ACTUALLY VALUED ME: PA AND YOU.**

**ANYWAYS, I’M OFF, AND I AM GOING TO BE FUCKING GLORIOUS.**

**LUCIO**

At the end of the letter, there was a P.S. followed by a crudely drawn image of what he assumed was Mont- _Lucio_ flipping off a mean-looking caricature of Morga. Luxx couldn’t help but chuckle at how he had taken his banishment in stride.

Luxx himself certainly hadn’t done nearly well with either of his punishments.

Then again, he should have known that Lucio would have found some way to make the best of his fate.

Out of the bleakness that seemed to take over his life since his sentencing, a laugh, genuine and bright, bubbled up out of him as he leaned back in his chair.

His nephew really was going to be fucking glorious.

* * *

Breathe in… Breathe out.

Breathe in… Breathe out.

Pain. So much pain.

Broken body, broken spirit.

Shame, humiliation, dishonour.

Where did the druid go?

She was supposed to be healing him.

She’s supposed to make the pain go away.

It had been a long time.

Did she abandon him?

Paralyzed, can’t move.

The runes dimmed, power nearly spent.

It is best to just focus on breathing.

Breathe in-

“What a fine specimen.”

His eyes open, met with red ones.

A mask is pulled down. A smile, all teeth. Too sharp.

“Yes, he will do nicely.” They hum to another.

Another? Luxx looked.

A ghost. There, but not.

A goat, but not.

Red eyes, spiraling horns, a familiar face.

“Hey Uncle Luxx, did ya miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for Luxx-centric stuff now. Upcoming stuff will probably feature Druid x Warrior, maybe some spicy Apprentice x Muriel and who knows what.


	4. The Bear Cub: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn about Morga, Eir, and how tf Muriel ended up in Vesuvia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, I actually haven’t read any of the past few updates on Lucio’s routes (I’m sure you can guess who I’m saving my coins for), so my characterization of Morga is how she is in Yours Truly, so if any of it directly contradicts what’s in Lucio’s route then…. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Morga was normally not one to feel worn out, but this day was proving to be an exception.

Coming back six and two-thirds mountains was even harder than tracking the injured Mirth matriarch, the Mama Bear, over them. Now, she lugged that ridiculously heavy bear-fur cloak behind her as she plodded on through the unforgiving terrain. 

The entire journey had taken several sleepless days, and she certainly felt it. The chill of the cruel mountain winds chilled her to the bone and her muscled screamed as she continued, step by step, towards the faint light of her camp.

There was little relief or rest to be found, though, as she returned.

Her warriors were… conflicted, it seemed. Some cheered, others stood tensely, whispering back and forth.

She regarded them from the shadows for a moment before she took a deep breath, willing away whatever traces of exhaustion might show. She needed to be pillar of strength for her people, just like her mother had been.

Eir, the matriarch who risked everything to save her tribe. Her fortitude never once wavered. Even when the tribe had been a breath away from disaster, they had faith in her, and she had pulled them through. She had sunk her claws into the earth and dragged her people out of ruin, all the way to the top of the food chain. The ghostly woman whose accomplishments made her a legend.

Though Morga had grown taller than her, she never failed to feel small beside her predecessor.

Her fellow tribe had always told her how alike she and her mother were, but she disagreed. While Morga could see the physical resemblance, that’s where she saw the similarities end.

Eir was frightening in her coolness. She was level-headed, statuesque even in the heat of battle. Her icy stare never wavered. Nothing phased her, just as nothing pleased her.

Morga, on the other hand, was more akin to flame than ice. She was fiery, passionately proud, and known most for her temper and outbursts in her younger years.

Eir had said her feelings were her weakness. Morga got attached to things, and that made her vulnerable.

“Sentiment is the enemy of decisive action, Morga. A kind heart will get you killed. It will stall your blade, and be ripped from your chest for it.” Eir had whispered to her on her 18th birthday, during her coronation. “You would be wise to leave it behind in your childhood.”

Eir had known that she would one day face off against her daughter in a duel for the matriarchy, as tradition dictated.

Morga knew she was being groomed to be a leader fit to follow in her mother’s footsteps, and that the only way to earn her place would be to kill Eir herself.

Needless to say, the two kept a careful distance.

Years after she had succeeded her mother, when Morga had gotten pregnant, she often tried to recall her childhood. She had done so to make mental note of how her mother had acted with her, how she was raised. Objectively, Eir’s method was effective. Morga had turned out to be a good leader so far, she had even taken down nearly all the Wolves, just as her mother had taken down the Greed.

However, bringing back memories of the coldness -- things that gentler souls would have considered cruel -- put a bitter taste in her mouth.

It would be unwise to act like the other parents in her tribe, who doted over their children with affection and love and other such soft-hearted things. She wasn’t having a child, she was raising the heir to the Scourge of the South. 

But when Monty had been born…

Well. 

Morga could at least recognize her own faults, and she knew she would never be truly wise.

That fire in her had grown to a blazing inferno when she first held her baby boy in her arms. He was nearly in his teens now, but even if she endeavoured not to show it, the sentiment stayed the same: she would rather burn the world to ash then let anyone touch a hair on her child’s head.

Morga grip tightened on her spear, and she looked up at the carved end of it. She had taken it from her mother in that fateful duel and had held it ever since. Sometimes, Morga thought, it looked a bit like Eir. The white carvings on the stone tip resembled her mother’s kohl markings, making it seem like her mother was always looking down at her.

Disapprovingly, of course.

She knew she was spoiling her boy, and she didn’t dare consider what this would mean for him when he was older, but some days she couldn’t bring herself to care. She loved her child with all her heart, with ever fibre of her being, and it fueled her strength, not weaken it.

It had been that devotion to her child, to her tribe, that kept her in it for the kill. The fire inside her burned bright and hot, so she could push through the blizzards, mountain after mountain, following the faintest trail of the Mama Bear to catch her prey. She could push down any anxiety that threatened to panic her as she scaled treacherous mountain faces and make it through yet another sleepless night until her spear had finally sunk satisfyingly deep into that rival matriarch’s chest.

It was that fire in her that carried her through the journey back, trophy in tow.

Considering herself presentable, she stepped out into view of her tribe. Pride seemed to overtake the conflict that had been colouring the air of the camp as Morga tossed the bloodied cloak on to the ground, affirming her victory. It was true victories like these that further rallied the tribe together, to unite them under their identity.

It was short-lived, however, as she was quickly informed of what had happened in her absence.

She ordered for her trophy to be brought to her tent and to be pointed in the direction of that treasonous fool she had once trusted as an advisor.

She found him pointing a blade at a boy, poised to kill.

Morga ignited with fury at the sight.

Luxx, who just a year ago had defied her, whose previous loyalty had been tossed to the wind, at least had enough cunning left in him to know when to _shut up_.

She left her orders with a young scout she recognized as a daughter of one of her warriors before, in her exhaustion, succumbing to her instincts.

She scooped up the frighten child, and she fled.

* * *

Morga ran and ran until she felt like her legs would give out, and even then, she kept going.

She didn’t even know where she was going to bring him, but she went north, getting this child as far away from the danger as she could.

She felt the peril that hung over him, the blade at his throat, as if it was her own. That fear carried her forward.

It had been quite a long time since she had let herself get like this.

“A cheetah.” Eir had proclaimed loud enough for the gathered crowd to hear, drawing on the kohl when her teenage self was finally deemed worthy of it. “Fast and lethal, but anxious. Enemies will be careful to mind your teeth and claws, prey will fear you, but you must mind your temperament most of all.”

Morga’s speed was unrivalled in her tribe, but the fear that gripped that damned heart of hers made it feel as if the danger was right at her heels. It was only when she finally stumbled, nearly tripping over herself that she finally slowed herself down to a stop. Once she was no longer flying between the trees, she turned and braced herself, fixing her eyes on the darkness of the night behind her and tried to quiet her heavy breaths.

It was well into the night, and the moon hung overhead enough to cast its pale glow through the canopy.

Her sudden appearance had startled the normal nighttime energy of these woods into silence, but it wasn’t until her heartbeat had stopped hammering in her ears that she heard the whimpers.

Then she felt it, the child she held tight was trembling. Looking down, she saw his face was buried in the fur of her cloak and held it in a white-knuckled grip.

As the adrenaline ebbed, she felt the strain in arms as she held the boy tight and her legs felt like they were quickly turning to jelly beneath her. This past week was really testing her endurance.

For a moment longer, she just stood there, not entirely sure what to do or why she had gotten herself into this situation. At least the spot where she had stopped would suffice as a campsite.

From the reports her tribe had given her, the Mirth of the Mountains had been utterly massacred. She was assured that the probably of any survivors was slim, and they had slain any stragglers they found who hadn’t been in the Mirth’s den.

It was safe to assume the boy was orphaned, but what she was going to do with him?

A tentative thought crossed her mind, but she shook it away immediately. She had already made that mistake once, she wouldn’t subject another child to that fate. It was foolish of her to have ever done it once before, and this child was so much younger than the druid had been.

And she especially couldn’t bring him in with the image of Luxx toying the sharp tip of his blade at this child’s neck. Not when she knew she could never trust Luxx to be left alone again.

She let out a long sigh as she mulled her options over. She shifted the weight of the boy to one arm as she reached up to pluck away some of the flowers from that ridiculous wreath he’d been wearing that were still stuck in his messy hair.

He startled when she touched his hair, but it took another minute for him to tentatively pull back enough to peer up at her with watery eyes.

Green, green eyes. Ones she had seen before, six and two-third mountains ago. His relation to the Mama Bear was obvious because of them. She had been a commendable matriarch, by her reputation, and she had put up a respectable fight in the end.

Morga thought it was cowardice at first that made the elder flee her tribe, but it wasn’t until she was several days journey away from the other Mirths that she realized the true nature of the woman’s sacrifice.

Well, keeping _her_ away from the tribe hadn’t been enough, apparently.

But now she held her orphaned relative, a grandson maybe, based on his age, and hadn’t a clue what to do with him. His Mirth blood made him look deceptively more grown than he was just by size, but looking into his eyes, Morga could see how young the boy really was.

The fear in them reminded her so vividly of Montag some years ago, when he had been that age. He was spoiled, even then, but he was so easily frightened. She would never admit it, but it was something he inherited from her. He would have that same look in his eyes when he would wake from a nightmare, or if one of the new trophies she brought home was particularly upsetting to him.

He would look at her like that, call for her, for his “Mama,” before she became just “Ma” to him. If Lutz was there, she would send him, but there were nights when he wasn’t.

There were nights where she had been alone with her child. Where she would remember her own childhood fears and how the only comfort Eir would offer was a cold, apathetic stare. Those were the nights she found herself, against her better judgement, pulling him close, letting him clutch onto the furs of her garb as she would rest her cheek on his little blond head.

The child in her arms now was certainly not her son. Appearance-wise, he was different in almost every way, but children experience fear so purely, making it a familiar look even on a completely different face.

“I’m going to set you down now.” She told him as she lowered him down on shaking legs until his own feet found the ground. He let go of her and tensed as she took a step back.

He eyed her warily, but he did not flee.

Satisfied she wasn’t going to have to try and put up a chase, she forced herself to remain standing, to gather supplies for a fire. The boy followed her with his eyes, but he stayed where he was. She could tell he was on edge, distressed and defensive.

Once she had gotten a warm fire started, though, he inched closer to it. 

She finally gave herself the relief of sitting and the full weight of her hunt finally hit her in a rush. Had she been alone, she was sure she would have slipped unconscious in a moment. The boy’s presence was enough for her to fight through it though, forcing her eyes to stay open. She wanted to take the time to re-sharpen her spear, but she doubted that would have the same cathartic effect for the child as it would for her. If anything, it would probably send the wrong message.

Instead, she settled on fixing her eyes on the fire, watching it curl and spark into the air.

The boy followed suit not too long after her. He lowered himself onto the ground on the opposite side of the fire. It wasn’t very large, so Morga could still see him overtop of it.

She watched him a moment as he did.

“How long did they keep you, little one?” She eventually asked.

He startled slightly at her voice, shrinking back.

“I-I don’t know.” He managed to stutter out, clutching his arms around himself, “Where are we? Cathair said she was coming back for me.”

“I don’t know who that is, child.” She shook her head, but she assumed the worst for the fate of this ‘Cathair’ person. Likely another Mirth. A caretaker, maybe. “It’s probably best for you to forget about her.”

“Forget?”

“Forgetting is easiest with these sorts of things. Especially as young as you are, it’s best not to delude yourself with false hope.” She said, drawing up a knee to herself so she could rest a tired arm. She waited until he looked back up at her before she continued. “I’m going to be blunt. You’re on your own from now on. Don’t expect to see anyone from your old life again.”

The boy sputtered, trying to look for words to say, to force them out.

“Why?” Was all he managed to finally say after some time. His voice wavered, and tears welled back up.

She, having taken to examining a bandage on her leg to see if it needed re-dressing yet, looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you really want to know?”

He paused at that, understanding the warning in her tone.

She saw him mull it over, before his gaze dropped. She gave a small nod and let a silence settle back over their camp.

“Are you hungry?”

He looked back up at her then. After another moment’s pause, he gave a small nod.

“Go catch yourself something, then.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widened as he looked around the dark forest, then back at her. The boy wore his worry plainly.

“Do you know how?”

He shook his head no.

“I-I know what berries and mushrooms are good.” He mumbled. “But it’s too dark out to tell.”

It’s a start, Morga thought, but a child can’t live off mushrooms and berries alone.

When the boy swiveled his head to look at the trees behind him though, he winced. She noticed then the red that ran down his neck.

With a force of effort, she rose back onto her feet to stride over to him. He tried to crawl back at first but froze as she kneeled and lifted his chin up so she could get a better look at the wound.

It must have been left over from Luxx, she realized. The thin slice on the skin there likely wouldn’t even scar, but if the boy kept re-opening it like this, it could get infected.

“Do you know how to dress a wound?” She wondered.

Again, it was a no.

With a heavy sigh, she stood, scouting the trees herself until she spotted what she was looking for. On the face of one of the older trunks was a soft, plush moss growing. She tore some up, shaking the dirt out of it.

“Now,” She said, coming back, making mental list of all the lessons this boy would need, “Listen closely, boy, I won’t repeat myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued... eventually


End file.
